The End of the Hunt
by Adio
Summary: re-writing the last chapter. No copyright infringement intended, just a twist on what it would be like if put this way. I did this for English class if anyone wonders. I just thought it was good enough to post.


Note: This is an alternate ending to Lord of the Flies. This is not entirely original,   
because it has SOME of the original text in it still. I do not mean to publish this material   
for any other reason than posting it for writing merit. It is fanfiction based on an idea to adapt a chapter already existing and to mold it to the projected ending. Lord of the Flies was written by William Golding. I own it in no way whatsoever, nor do I claim any   
rights to its material other than for purposes of private entertainment. PLEASE don't   
come after me waving copyrights, because I don't want to cause a ruckus. Just enjoy the   
concept and appreciate the originality that lies in my own ending to the book.   
  
C H A P T E R T W E L V E   
  
*The End of the Hunt*  
  
Ralph lay in a covert, wondering about his wounds. The bruised flesh was inches in   
diameter over his right ribs, with a swollen and bloody scar where the spear had hit him.   
His hair was full of dirt and tapped like the tendrils of a creeper. All over he was   
scratched and bruised from his flight through the forest. By the time his breathing was   
normal again, he had worked out that bathing these injuries would have to wait. How   
could you listen for naked feet if you were splashing in the water? How could you be   
safe by the little stream or on the open beach?  
  
Ralph listened. He was not really far from the Castle Rock, and during the first panic he   
had thought he heard sounds of pursuit. But the hunters had only sneaked into the fringes   
of the greenery, retrieving spears perhaps, and then had rushed back to the sunny rock as   
if terrified of the darkness under the leaves. He had even glimpsed one of them, striped   
brown, black, and red, and had judged that it was Bill. But really, thought Ralph, this   
was not Bill. This was a savage whose image refused to blend with that ancient picture   
of a boy in shorts and shirt.   
  
The afternoon died away; the circular spots of sunlight moved steadily over green fronds   
and brown fiber but no sound came from behind the rock. At last Ralph wormed out of   
the ferns and sneaked forward to the edge of that impenetrable thicket that fronted the   
neck of land. He peered with elaborate caution between branches at the edge and could   
see Robert sitting on guard at the top of the cliff. He held a spear in his left hand and was   
tossing up a pebble and catching it again with the right. Behind him a column of smoke   
rose thickly, so that Ralph's nostrils flared and his mouth dribbled. He wiped his nose   
and mouth with the back of his hand and for the first time since the morning felt hungry.   
The tribe must be sitting round the gutted pig, watching the fat ooze and burn among the   
ashes. They would be intent.   
  
Another figure, an unrecognizable one, appeared by Robert and gave him something,   
then turned and went back behind the rock. Robert laid his spear on the rock beside him   
and began to gnaw between his raised hands. So the feast was beginning and the   
watchman had been given his portion.   
  
Ralph saw that for the time being he was safe. He limped away through the fruit trees as   
noiselessly as he could manage. The thought of the poor food seemed bitter to that of the   
feast of meat. Feast on fruit today, and then tomorrow...  
  
He argued in vain that they would let him alone, perhaps even make an outlaw of him.   
But then the fatal unreasoning knowledge came to him again. The breaking of the conch   
and the deaths of Piggy and Simon lay over this island like a vapor. These painted   
savages would go further and further. It was Jack. Then there was that undefinable   
connection between himself and Jack; who therefore would never let him alone; never.   
  
He paused, sun-flecked, holding up a bough, prepared to duck under it. A spasm of   
primal terror set him shaking and he cried aloud.   
  
"No. They're not as bad as that. It was an accident."  
  
He shook away the prickling sensation and ducked under the bough, ran clumsily, then   
stopped and listened.   
  
He came to the smashed acres of fruit and ate greedily. He saw two littluns and, not   
having any idea of his own appearance, wondered why they screamed and ran. The   
sound reminded him of the littlun with the mulberry colored birthmark; how he'd moaned   
when he spoke of the 'beastie'.   
  
When he had eaten he went toward the beach. The sunlight was slanting now into the   
palms by the wrecked shelter. There was the platform and the pool. The best thing to do   
was to ignore this leaden feeling about the heart and rely on their common sense, their   
daylight and sanity.   
  
Now that the tribe had eaten, the thing to do was try again. And anyway, he couldn't stay   
here all night in an empty shelter by the deserted platform.   
  
His flesh crept and he shivered in the evening sun. No fire; no smoke; no rescue.   
  
He turned and limped away through the forest toward Jack's end of the island.   
  
The slanting sticks of sunlight were lost among the branches. At length he came to a   
clearing in the forest where rock prevented vegetation from growing. Now it was a pool   
of shadows and Ralph nearly flung himself behind a tree when he saw something   
standing in the center; but then he saw that the white face was bone and the pig's skull   
grinned at him from the top of a stick. He walked slowly into the middle of the clearing   
and looked steadily at the skull that gleamed as white as ever the conch had done and   
seemed to jeer at him cynically. An inquisitive ant was busy in one of the eye sockets but   
otherwise the thing was lifeless.   
  
Or was it?  
  
Little prickles of sensation ran up and down his back. He stood, the skull about on a level   
with his face, and held up his hair with two hands. The stumpy teeth grinned; the empty   
sockets seemed to hold his gaze masterfully and without effort.   
  
What was it?  
  
The skull regarded Ralph like one who knows all the answers and won't tell. But the   
smile urged him to ask; why was everything so funny around this island? How had it got   
so bad? A sick fear and rage swept him. Fiercely and quickly he hit out at the filthy   
thing in front of him that bobbed like a toy and came back. It laughed silently in his face,   
grinning oddly, so that he hit it again, crying out in loathing, but not having the   
satisfaction of besting the thing.   
  
A fat black beetle fell out of the bottom of the head and scurried away into the sparse   
grass that stuck op through the cracks of rock. Disgusted, he uprooted the stick out of the   
crevice it was stuck in and violently bashed the bleached skull on the ground. It   
splintered and fell to pieces, teeth littered across the ground. An eye socket glanced up at   
him sentencing him to its kind of fate.   
  
Like Piggy's.   
  
Ralph growled in antipathy, kicking the pieces; scattering them into the grass.   
  
When the blood-red glow had gone from the horizon and night was fully accomplished,   
Ralph came again to the thicket in front of Castle Rock. Peeping through, he could see   
that the height was still occupied, and whoever it was up there had a spear at the ready.   
  
He knelt among the shadows and felt his isolation bitterly. They were savages it was   
true; but they were human, and the ambushing fears of the deep night were coming on.   
  
Ralph moaned faintly. Tired though he was, his muscles could not relax to rest for fear   
of the tribe and for fear of what lay to be seen. Might it not be possible to walk boldly   
into the fort, say--"I've got pax," laugh lightly and sleep among the others? Pretend they   
were still boys, schoolboys who had said "Sir, yes, Sir"--and worn caps? Daylight might   
have answered yes; but darkness and the horrors of death said no. Lying there in the   
darkness, he knew he was an outcast. An animal to be hunted and killed. A beast.   
  
" 'Cos I had some sense..." he grumbled regretfully.   
  
He rubbed his cheek along his forearm, smelling the acrid scent of salt and sweat and the   
staleness of dirt. Over to the left, the waves of ocean were breathing viscously, sucking   
down, and boiling over the rocks possessively.   
  
There were sounds coming from behind the Castle Rock. Listening carefully, detaching   
his mind from the growl of the sea, Ralph could make out a familiar rhythm.   
  
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"  
  
The tribe was dancing. Somewhere on the other side of the rocky wall there would be a   
dark circle, a glowing fire, and meat. They would be savoring the food and the comfort   
of safety.   
  
A noise nearer at hand made him quiver. Savages were clambering up the castle Rock,   
right up to the top, and he could hear voices. He sneaked forward a few yards and saw   
the shape at the top of the rock change and enlarge. There were only two boys on the   
island who moved or talked like that.   
  
Ralph put his head down on his forearms carefully and accepted this new fact like a   
wound. Samneric were part of the tribe now. They were guarding Castle Rock against   
him. There was no chance of rescuing them and building up an outlaw tribe at the other   
end of the island. Samneric were savages like the rest; Piggy was dead, and the conch   
smashed to powder.   
  
At length the guard clambered down. The two that re-mained seemed nothing more than   
a dark extension of the rock. A star appeared behind them and was momentarily eclipsed   
by some movement.   
  
Ralph edged forward, feeling his way quietly over the uneven surface as though he were   
blind. There were miles of vague water at his right and restless ocean lay under his left   
hand.   
  
He felt for a rock with his foot and looked up to see where Samneric stood. But as his   
foot found the rock, it skidded past it, slipping across the other cold, wet stones, throwing   
off his balance. He opened his mouth and yelped in the fright of the moment, nearly   
hurling himself off the side of the cliff into the water below.   
  
It would have been just as well if he had thrown himself down, because Samneric had   
heard him and shouted out, alarming the savages not far off.   
  
Ralph caught his weight on a ledge, and lifted himself up to look over, to see Samneric   
running down the Castle Rock and to the fort. They wouldn't have known it was him.   
Even if they had, would they have helped him? He had no time to think.   
  
He turned quickly, sensing the shouts and hurried movements of the savages dangerously   
close. He heard Jack's voice cry out above the commotion. He was rallying them   
together.   
  
"The beast comes out at night, and so we shall hunt it at night!" And the chant, the   
bloody chant wafted over the cliffs again, echoing through the night and off the water.   
Ralph rushed down the rocks, scraping his arms and legs, ignoring the sharp pains every   
time his skin split. He had to move, and fast.   
  
The savages swarmed over the Castle Rock and around it, carrying torches to light their   
way over the treacherous landscape. Ralph had no such tool to prevent him from   
stumbling into more and more rocks and steep crevices that twisted his ankles.   
  
Jack howled in the fury and terror of the chase.   
  
"There he is!" A savage pointed, just before Ralph disappeared into the forest. The trees   
cast sickly twisting shadows before Ralph as he groped his way through the brush   
blindly. They were close behind him, trying to surround him. A spear shot past him and   
he jumped out of its path, darting the other way, weaving through the tree trunks and   
bushes. The wide leaves whipped at his face and chest.   
  
Various noises ricocheted from behind him; whoops and hollers; clicks and ululations   
that reverberated off the trees hauntingly. It was no longer a game; it was killing.   
  
Ralph's heart beat wildly as he struggled to regain his breath and keep going. They   
seemed to be somewhat far behind him now. Maybe they would lose him and go back   
home. But a whoop called from not far off to his right, and he dashed again through the   
woods. A spear whistled through the air near his head, followed by another.   
  
"You can't hide from us, beast. We will hunt you forever!" Jack's voice filtered through   
the trees.   
  
Ralph's legs were screaming in pain, begging him to stop, but he couldn't let them. His   
arms flailed wildly at his sides, swiping at branches, making more noise. The savages   
had quieted down and so they would hear. He slowed his pace and crept through the   
brush, ducking under some ferns that grew thickly near a rock.   
  
He stopped his racing brain for a moment to collect his thoughts. They would be by this   
way soon, and they might pass him by, unnoticing, if he were to duck deep enough into   
the brush. Maybe they would just leave him alone.   
  
But then the stealthy, whispering chant broke through the loud pounding of blood in   
Ralph's skull and he knew it would not end so easily.   
  
"Kill the beast, cut his throat, spill his blood...kill the beast, cut his throat, spill his   
blood...kill the beast, cut his throat, spill his blood!"  
  
Ralph trembled, a part of him he had no known was there emerging through his chest,   
wanting to strike out against them fiercely like he had at the pig's skull. He was nothing   
but an animal to them. The dark ominous quality of this concept infuriated him. He   
squinted his eyes through the forest in the direction from which he came and saw two   
savages approach the thicket where he lay. Two more ran out from behind these two, and   
rushed ahead. They sped past Ralph hurriedly.   
  
But the two slower savages looked over the forest floor and into the bushes and ferns   
around them. They came dangerously close to where Ralph was kneeling low in the   
ferns. Their torchlight passed over his head, and for a moment they did not see his   
scruffy hair shadowed by a tall frond. They shouted, and drove at the spot where he   
crouched with their sharpened sticks, ready to attack him and corner him. The others   
rushed through the woods, closing around Ralph. He broke to the left and stumbled over   
a fallen tree. His face went into the wet maw of mud, and he choked on the leaves that   
went into his mouth.   
  
Fraught, he pushed himself out of the mud, trying to push himself away from the   
cornering savages. They were all around him as he lifted himself up, moving to break   
through the ring of them.   
  
He heard Jack call from not far off, and he heard Roger's malicious cackle. The stupidly   
grinning savages pointed their spears at him, prodding where they could. But they were   
waiting; waiting for Jack, their chief, to conquer the beast. The chanting around him rose   
to a height as Roger stepped into the circle and drove at Ralph's neck with a wicked   
looking stick. Ralph remembered his own sharpened stick and jabbed it at Roger.   
  
Ralph crawled under the spears as Roger howled, clutching his bleeding chest and   
gasping suddenly. The other savages were stunned, and Ralph made it past them, taking   
off through the forest again. Jack spotted him and launched after. Ralph noticed the   
pursuit and turned about to meet his stalker. Jack's painted face grinned at him in the   
darkness, and lunged to kill. They fought; grasping at one another's arms, forcing away   
weapons that came back and stabbed. Jack roared challengingly, bringing Ralph's fury to   
a peak. They both drove at each other, but managed to dodge respectively.   
  
Jack backed away, trying to grab hold of Ralph's legs, which kicked violently. The other   
boys were gathering again, watching the fight. Ralph shook his foot and kicked straight   
into Jack's gut. The taller boy paused, doubling over in pain. But he got up again.   
  
Ralph was standing again, facing the savage chief.   
  
Jack struck at him, but fell down again.   
  
Ralph kicked him again and screamed like a furious animal.   
  
"I am the beast! You can't kill me!"   
  
His heartbeat raced and his vision blurred. He threw his head back and struck at the   
savages around him. Some fell back, wounded, for standing too close. Jack struggled to   
get to his feet again.   
  
"You are the beast and I will kill you! I'll cut your throat!" He lunged at Ralph's neck   
with the knife in his hand. Ralph felt the skin warm with the trickle of blood. He ignored   
it and flew at Jack, punching and kicking him, thrusting the stick sharpened at both ends   
into him over and over until Jack was lying limply on the ground, mumbling and gurgling   
the last breaths of noise he had. He choked and hissed at Ralph's lithe body, which   
pounced on him and tore away more flesh. Ralph was all but covered in blood and dirt   
that had smeared on his arms and face.   
  
When Jack stopped moving, Ralph pulled back and stood up, darting glances either way   
at the gathered savages.   
  
"I am the beast. Fear me."   
  
The boys were shocked witless for a moment, and then some began to scream. Younger   
boys became terribly frightened and ran. Others merely stared at the shadowy figure that   
lay still on the forest floor.   
  
The savages had ceased to chant, and were now helplessly scattering. Roger was dead,   
some ways away; the chief was dead. They were at the mercy of the beast.   
  
One of the boys fell to his knees before Ralph and bowed his head.   
  
"Oh beast, forgive us for angering you. You have killed our chief. We are at your mercy   
now."   
  
Ralph raised his stick into the air above the boy's head.   
  
"I am your chief now. You thought you could hunt and kill me, but I was really part of   
you. The chiefs have died and now I am the king of the island. Serve me or die."  
  
The boy at the beast's feet quivered fearfully. The beast was right. They should have   
never tried to kill him.   
  
The beast kicked the boy away from him before he brought the stick down.   
  
The beast turned back to the corpse of what used to be Jack and took the knife that lay by   
its side.   
  
One of the boys a ways away looked up at the boy next to him.   
  
"Are we going to be rescued?"   
  
The other boy shook his head slowly.   
  
"No."   
  
"Are we going to die?" The boy asked finally.   
  
"It's up to him," the savage responded.   
  
The savages watched as their chief-king stalked through the forest like a prowler, and led   
them away from the treacherous scene. Each by each, they followed after him, becoming   
animals like their master.   
  
One of the figures slinking through the forest looked hungrily up at the moon. It was the   
island of the beasts now. They could hunt and kill as they pleased. No more rules; no   
more restrictions. The beast king continued through the unending night, with his clan   
close behind him, and not a word echoed through the trees. Instead a steady growl rose   
up through the trees and echoed into the night. 


End file.
